


Familia Nostra, Nostros Vires

by RandomReader13



Series: broken bodies, daisy bloom [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth-centric, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Found Family, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Protective Alfred Pennyworth, Survival, Zombie Apocalypse, again lmao - Freeform, no zombies actually appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomReader13/pseuds/RandomReader13
Summary: His family was in danger and would soon be out of reach. Alfred wasn't going to let that happen.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Everyone, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth
Series: broken bodies, daisy bloom [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014831
Comments: 10
Kudos: 102





	Familia Nostra, Nostros Vires

No one knew where the virus had sprung from. Guesses ranged from a new Rogue to any combination of the existing ones. Joker and Scarecrow were particular favorites, as the chaos spread was certainly the former’s wheelhouse, while the rampant panic that spread through the city was the latter’s. But no such explanation was forthcoming. Batman tracked down every Rogue, mob boss, and scientist in the city, hunting for any clues. There was no cause to be found, and no cure to be obtained. All they could do was contain.

The U.S. government had the same idea. The army set up checkpoints at every access point to the islands, putting every person trying to leave through a thorough medical examination and lengthy quarantine period. Any who showed any signs of illness, be it a cough, a chill, or the dreaded fever, were turned away, forced at gunpoint to return to the panicking city. Some refused to go, fought to stay with their families or just to escape. Their bodies were piled into trucks and carted away to be burned.

Alfred had not seen Bruce or his grandchildren in a week. He spent his days in the Cave, a sweater wrapped around his shoulders against the chill and a kettle of tea by his side, his ears filled with the chatter of his family, eyes tracking mask cameras and trackers. They reassured him that they were all alive and well, updating him on their progress, and sharing as many inane stories as they could. Even Bruce would find a quiet spot high on some building to talk to him on a private line. Alfred’s heart ached as his boy quietly listed their failures, the number of infected growing every day. He had to take several sips of tea to get his voice under control before he could reassure his boy that the deaths were not his fault, and the state the people were in when they revived were certainly not. It didn’t help. Bruce had taken the world on his shoulders when he was eight years old, and he had never stopped. He would always believe there was something he could do, something more. More money, more time, more blood, sweat, and tears.

Alfred always feared that it was in some way his responsibility, a fatal lack in his care that had led Bruce down this path. God knew he hadn’t had a clue what he was doing when he had first found himself solely responsible for a child. He had tried to maintain the position he knew, desperately clinging to the familiar in a sea of unknown. It was only later, during Bruce’s rather...wild teenage years that Alfred realized that this wasn’t the right path, that the boy needed more than a butler. He had tried to fix it, but it had been far too late at that point, and Alfred could only mitigate the damage as much as possible. Bruce disappeared a few years later.

He had come back changed, harder but more settled, less uncomfortable in his own skin. He had a purpose and the drive to achieve it. Alfred had been skeptical to say the least. It sounded insane, and he seriously considered calling in a psychiatrist for help. But, God help him, he couldn’t do it. He had finally gotten his boy back, and he would not lose him to a metal facility.

Despite his failures, Alfred took comfort in his grandchildren, and the father his boy had become. He must have done something right; at the very least he had not tainted the memories of Thomas Wayne, with his gentle voice and rumbling laugh that Bruce sometimes mimicked so exactly it took Alfred’s breath away. He wished his boy lived in a world more conducive to softness and laughter, but he took every moment he could get as a precious gem to be stowed safely away, looked at when doubt reared its ugly head and made him wish he had done something, anything different. On nights like tonight, when he was far away from his family while they fought impossible odds.

“Alfred,” Batman’s gruff voice said over the comms, silencing the vigorous debate going on about the best flavor of gatorade.

Alfred’s stomach dropped at the breach of name protocol. “I am here,” he said.

“They’re blowing the bridges.”

Alfred couldn’t breathe. His cup slipped in his numb fingers and he quickly put it down. His grandchildren were silent as the grave, their trackers jerking to a halt where they stood on rooftops and fire escapes. “Pardon?” he said, voice still too faint.

“They’re blowing the bridges,” his boy reported, voice flat in a way that never failed to signal distress. “City-wide quarantine. They’re pulling all the troopers out. No one gets in, and no one gets out.”

The silence was scratching, tearing, ripping him from the inside out.

“I see,” Alfred said. “How long before they are finished pulling out?”

“Approximately four hours, they just began transmitting the orders.”

“Very well,” Alfred said, standing and organizing his tea set on its cart. “I will be collecting supplies and clothing, as well as additional armor and other necessities. Kindly text me with anything you do not want left behind.”

Bruce’s voice dropped out of its low gravel from surprise. “Alfred- what?”

“Anything, be it cameras, books, art supplies, albums, I will be happy to bring it along.”

“Where are you going?”

Alfred scoffed. His boy was brilliant, but he could be profoundly stupid at times. “I am coming to you, of course.” He headed to the kitchen, rinsing the tea set but leaving it in the sink. There was no time to dawdle.

Cacophony in his ear, voices spilling over each other until Bruce’s voice cut through. “ _Quiet_.”

Alfred headed up to his room, in a quiet corner of the servant’s quarters. Bruce had offered him different accommodations many times, but Alfred’s suite suited him exactly, and so he had always refused. Perhaps he should have accepted, should have allowed the breach of protocol to be closer to Bruce- but it was no use wondering now.

“Alfred, you can’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Master Bruce,” he said, quickly packing his bag. He may have been old, but that did not mean he had forgotten his years of training in the military and MI6. “I am certainly not sitting in this empty house while you lot are trapped in that city.”

“The kids are returning to the manor,” Bruce said firmly. Said children erupted in protest. Alfred listened for a few moments before clearing his throat. It was a credit to his position that they immediately fell silent.

“I think we all know that they will not be.” Bruce inhaled, but Alfred cut him off. “They are too much like you, Master Bruce. Too much like the both of us, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Silence.

“Chin up, Master Bruce,” Alfred continued, carefully tucking a photo album into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “We shall bear this storm together, as we always have.”

“Alfred,” Bruce choked.

Alfred paused in the foyer next to his bag, his chest tightening. “Don’t fear, Master Bruce,” he said softly. “We shall do alright, as long as we stay _together_. Familia nostra, nostros vires.”

“Our family, our strength,” Bruce muttered. “I can’t stop you.”

“No more than you can stop the tide, Master Bruce.”

A slow, deep exhale. “I’ll send you the location,” he finally said. “It’s one of Hood’s safe houses.”

“Very good, Master Bruce. I shall be expecting everyone’s texts.”

As if they had been waiting for permission, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He glanced at the lists and marched briskly up the stairs. “I’m afraid I cannot bring your animals, Master Damian, the situation is much too dangerous for them. I will, however, place them in the care of the usual keeper. I have no doubt she will take excellent care of them, as she always has.” He glanced at his watch. “I shall aim to cross the bridges in no more than three hours. I will be taking the van.”

“The roads are pretty crowded,” Timothy said. “I’ll try to find a clear path. Um.” A moment of hesitation. “You might find some...crowds. You can’t stop for them. You have to keep moving, no matter what.”

“Of course, Master Tim,” Alfred said. He had watched through their mask cams as cars had been swarmed by hordes of dead-eyed creatures, clawing and smashing their way to the terrified people inside. “Thanks to its extensive modifications, the van should hold up quite satisfactorily.”

The van was a normal 10-passenger than had been given a complete makeover. It sported heavy bullet-proof armor, all-terrain wheels, and an engine that had been modified from one of the batmobiles. It could hit speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour without difficulty or losing control, with steering as sensitive as possible in a vehicle of its size, and had two extra built-in fuel reservoirs. Best of all, it could fit their entire family and luggage. Should they need to make an exit en masse, they would be able to do so in relative safety.

Alfred was slightly out of breath by the time he had collected bags from Bruce’s and each of his grandchildren’s rooms. He drank some water before loading the bags into the elevator and heading down to the Cave. He had allowed only one bag for himself and each of his charges, mostly clothes and other necessary items, only one or two keepsakes. They would be coming back, after all, once this mess was over. There was no need and no way to bring everything. Here, though, was the most important equipment. Alfred drove the van right up into the main section of the Cave and got to work. The medical bay was first, as much as he could fit inside, followed by an extra set of armor for each one of them and as many weapons as he could expediently get his hands on. His own stock joined, his trusty shotgun as well as a few higher-powered pieces he kept locked in his quarters. He kept one eye on his watch, calculating travel times and speeds. The kitchen was emptied of its cans and non-perishables in quick order. “I am off, Master Bruce,” he said, hovering over the computer, ready to turn it to sleep mode. He would not shut it down entirely, but sleep mode would preserve power while allowing them remote access.

“Be careful, Alfred,” Bruce said. His grandchildren chorused in agreement.

“Of course,” Alfred said. “Master Tim, I am sure you will guide me?”

“I’ve got you, Al,” Timothy said.

“Very well.” Alfred climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors. “Off we go then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Army guy: Sir, I can't let you go in there. You'll be trapped.  
> Alfred: Young man, my family is in that city. You /will/ let me pass.  
> Army guy: ... *steps to the side*


End file.
